


the dreams in which i'm dying are the worst i've ever had

by tremaineblackbourne (Silentiere)



Category: Warcross - Marie Lu, Warcross Series, Wildcard - Marie Lu
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-26 20:59:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silentiere/pseuds/tremaineblackbourne
Summary: Most nights, Tremaine slept well.This night was not most nights.(Contains Wildcard spoilers.)





	the dreams in which i'm dying are the worst i've ever had

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marie Lu Week 2018 on Tumblr.

Something was controlling him.

His body was attached to strings, walking forward until he reached the center of a stage where an actor was standing. A blinding white spotlight shone down on him, preventing him from making out any features of the audience except for a single silhouette. He was forced to get on his knees as an actress stepped out from behind him, who then went to speak to the actor. Although he could see their mouths move, he couldn't figure out anything they were saying; the words they spoke were muffled and distant, as if they were farther away than they really were. The actor took a step toward him, but the actress held up a hand and pulled out a gun. He could barely react before she aimed it at his head and fired a shot. As his body fell, the strings pulled sharply and yanked him toward the wings. The show vanished once he was off stage, leaving him in the dark.

The strings began to move, twisting around his arms and creeping upward. He tried to pull them off, but his wrists were bound together. As the strings wrapped around his neck, he instinctively clutched at his throat, fingers working desperately to rid of the tightening noose. It didn't help; they simply dug deeper into his skin.

He wanted to scream, but what would be the point? There was no one here except him. He was stuck, tangled in a web that threatened to take the few things he still had—his breath, his head, his existence. By all accounts, he was hopeless. He couldn't be saved.

So why did he keep struggling? Was he expecting someone to save him? Why would anyone want to enter oblivion for the sole purpose of cutting these strings apart? No, no one would ever  _want_ to come here; but he trusted that someone would come—that someone would care enough to risk getting caught in the strings just so they could free him. All he had to do was guide them toward him. With the last of his breath, he shouted for help.

The word came out in a faint whisper but compared to the silence, it was deafening.

He felt a pair of hands grab his wrists. They tugged at the restraints, and immediately, the strings unwound. The rest of them followed, loosening around him and finally, he could breathe again. 

* * *

Tremaine woke up in the dark, gasping for breath. For a moment, he was afraid he was in that same place again, but once he got his bearings, he could see Roshan lying next to him. He moved closer and buried his face in Roshan's chest, and in return, an arm wrapped around him.

"Bad dream?" Roshan asked, running his fingers through Tremaine's hair.

"Yeah," he said. "You'd think the actual bullet going into your head would be the worst part of getting shot, but no—it's the bloody nightmares that come afterward. Get nearly killed once and suddenly your brain wants to imagine another hundred ways you could die."

"Would it help if I told your brain to fuck off?"

Tremaine laughed. "It might."

"Do you think you'll be able to go back to sleep?"

"I'm not sure."

"Then I'll stay awake until you do."

"No, that's..." Tremaine trailed off. "You don't have to."

"So stubborn," Roshan muttered, kissing the top of his head. "I know I don't have to. I'm doing it because I want to make sure you'll be fine. It's better if I'm here if you don't need me, than if I'm not if you do, okay?"

Tremaine made a sound of acknowledgement. They laid there for a while, with only the sounds of the occasional passing car interrupting the silence. At some point, Roshan got out of bed and made some tea—chamomile for him, chai for Roshan—then grabbed another blanket. He murmured a "thank you" as Roshan draped it over his shoulders and slid back into position beside him.

He could get used to this, Tremaine decided. He really hoped that he could, forever.

So when he fell asleep for a second time that night, that was all he dreamed about.


End file.
